


You Kiss Your Dead Mom With That Mouth?

by jackie spades (ahabsyndrome)



Series: DC shots! [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Joker's sadomasochism gets pretty cringe in this debate, M/M, Vampirism, martha is not mentioned in this at all i should point out i just thought this would be a funny title, probably could get away with a mature rating but yknow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:53:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22963459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahabsyndrome/pseuds/jackie%20spades
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Series: DC shots! [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1650202
Comments: 5
Kudos: 55





	You Kiss Your Dead Mom With That Mouth?

It’s a frame right out of a Hollywood interrogation scene when Bruce opens his eyes. Inky blackness surrounding the beam of light he sits beneath, fastened with silver to a chair that’s been bolted to the floor. In the shadows before him he can spot the flash of a white grin, the figure it belongs to circling him just beyond illumination. 

“Rise n’ shine, buttercup.”

He’d lost control. That’s how he ended up in this situation. The memory now of the spray of fresh blood comes back to him, its scent enticing beyond resistance to a vampire who had gone as long without feeding as he has. Even his controlled and sanitary methods of obtaining blood can’t prevent him from being sick to his stomach with self-loathing when the prey drive kicks in. He hadn’t even noticed someone behind him until he’d already fallen for the trap. 

The Joker is behind him now, he can hear the heels of his boots at a slow, meandering gait travelling around him. “I’m a little disappointed in you. It shouldn’t be this easy to catch you off guard.”

Suddenly, a laugh, and two hands on his shoulders. Joker’s head beside his, his pallid skin bright under the fluorescent lamp. Bruce shoots him a sideways glare, “I suppose you’re not going to release me.”

“If you play your cards right, we’ll see.”

There’s little point in struggling against his confines. Joker is aware of his nature, hence, no amount of force he could apply would break these binds. 

Joker walks around to stand before him, placing a hand on each arm of the chair and facing him properly, though a little too close for comfort. His breath smells sweet, like he’s been eating something sugary and artificially flavored. “You seem cranky. Is this like those Snickers commercials?” He smiles knowingly, then straightens up and taps his chin in thought. “No, I’d like to say that you’re not you when you’re hungry, but you’re always a cranky wet blanket, aren’t you? Ironically enough, I don’t care for  _ Snickers _ . Would you believe it?”

“No.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“You’re wasting our time.”

With a sneer, Joker produces a blade from his sleeve and presses the point of it into Batman's throat just enough for him to feel the point. With the mirth gone from his face, he growls, “How about now?” It lasts for all of two seconds, and he’s giggling again. The blade is just as quickly pulled away and he feels a bony knee rest on the chair between his thighs. Before Bruce realizes what is happening, h e smells it: the horrid, acid-tainted blood unique to Joker, and he has to keep his jaw from slacking so that he doesn’t drool. What is he doing?

“You are hungry, aren’t you?” The clown croons, and Batman catches a glimpse of his hand, bloodied with a deep cut through that papery white skin.

The feigned sympathy that drips from Joker’s voice has him gritting his teeth, “Poor thing.” He coos, leaning in close and turning his face towards him with a hand beneath his jaw. His wound is in his other hand, clenched tight in a fist and blood seeps through his fingers. Bruce can’t take his eyes off of it, but he can nearly feel Joker beaming at him. He opens his bloody hand to reveal the gash in his palm. The tips of his fingers are stained red from digging into the wound, and he traces one along the edge of Bruce’s mouth, a featherlight touch on his lip. The scent of it is overwhelming, and there’s an ache in his mouth that’s never felt so dry. He didn’t even notice that his lips had parted until Joker draws his hand away.

His eyebrows furrow, he wets his lips, filling his mouth with the sweet taste of Joker’s blood like a battery covered with stevia. It would not be his first choice, but he’s nearing the point where anything tastes like a delicacy. He shouldn’t have neglected his hunger for this long. He hears a breathy laugh from his nemesis again, two bloodstained hands finding the corners of his mouth and painting lines that lead to his cheekbones. “We match!” Joker murmurs, then holds out his hand, watching him closely. “Let me help you, bunny. I can make it better.”

Light-headed, Batman leans forward almost unconsciously, and the bloodied hand moves just out of his reach. Another jarring change in tone when Joker hisses at him. “Didn’t say please!”

Joker puts his hands on the armrests of the chair again, shifting to get in his lap properly. One hand still dripping red while the other still grasps the knife. “It’s just you and me, baby. It’ll be our secret. I want to hear you beg for it.”

There’s no way you can trust the clown’s word on anything. He can’t. But he’s positively aching with hunger at this point, surrounded by the scent of blood. Joker lifts the blade to his mouth, locking eyes as he licks his own blood from the edge. 

“Please.”

“Please what, bunny?”

“Let me drink you.”

There’s a palpable triumph in Joker’s eyes as he offers his split hand to Bruce’s mouth. He laps eagerly, a relieved groan escaping him before he can think better of it. There’s a clatter, the knife dropping to the floor, and Joker’s free hand finds the back of Bruce’s neck. He closes his eyes, his dazed mind attempting to retain at least enough control to avoid biting right into him. His fangs scrape the broken skin regardless though, as the blood flow begins to slow down. Joker snatches his hand away, backhanding Bruce across the face. When he looks back at the ghostly man, however, his eyes are lidded, looking down at him with what he can only describe as an obscene expression of pleasure. Then he takes Bruce’s chin in his hand, leaning down to lick the drying blood he’d left on Batman’s face. All the while, he murmurs in a low tone, “I can’t help but think now. You finding me out at night, catching me unaware and shoving me up against a wall somewhere quiet. Taking what you want from me. I’d like that. Would you like that?”

“Yes.” He says it before Joker has even finished speaking, short of breath and desperate for more. “Please.”

“I’ll let you bite me. Only if you promise not to be nice.”

Those thin, bony legs press tightly against his, and he can feel a faint throb against one of his thighs when he whispers, “Let me touch you.”

A kiss, right at the edge between his mask and his jaw. Joker chuckles in response, “You’ve been so good. I couldn’t possibly refuse.”

He reaches into one of his pants pockets, and there’s a click, his wrists are released from the silver. He wastes no time digging one hand into Joker’s hair and wrapping the other arm around him, keeping him in place. He’s thinner than he looks with his suit on, and Bruce can feel every sharp bone straining against his tight, porcelain skin, even with layers of clothing between them. There’s no backing out of this now. 

Joker’s heart rate is always elevated, even in their calmer moments. But it’s practically jumping out of his chest now, his breath quick and shallow. Bruce wastes no time finding a good vein at his throat, feeling it pulse quickly beneath his lips. Joker gasps upon feeling hot breath against the flesh there, squirming in his grasp, but far from attempting to escape what he’s gotten himself into. 

Grinding against his captive-turned-captor, Joker lets out a noise that’s almost pathetic. He leans into the touch of Batman’s lips, grasping his shoulders. “Do it, you bastard. Don’t think I won’t fucking kill you if you don't-” He breaks off into a scream as Batman tears into him, tightening his hold on Joker’s hair and catching his hip in a bruising grip with his other hand. He could crush him so easily, tear through his chest and bull out the source of that little songbird-like pulse pumping the too-sweet blood into his hungry mouth.

The scream teeters off into a gasp for breath, and several short, heaving pants as Joker desperately grinds himself against Bruce’s thigh. He’s never taken blood directly from a person before like this, preferring the most humane means possible. But with his thirst, the teasing, the willingness of his victim to give him everything he wants. If Joker passes out, he passes out. 

Unfortunately there isn't a method of assault in the world that will keep Joker from rambling. His hands move from Bruce's shoulders to the back of his neck. With anyone else, there'd be a concern about him attempting to remove the cowl, but it's long been established that Joker wants nothing to do with whatever his day job is. Just one more excuse to make this seem okay in his own mind while attempting to ignore the ragged mumblings from his bloodbag. 

"God, yes. I love it when you hurt me. I need it deeper-"

Breaking his windpipe sounds good about now, but Batman settles for pulling his fangs out just long enough to give Joker a good punch in the jaw, all the while keeping his long, curly locks wrapped around his other fist. Joker curses, panting until Bruce bites him again, more or less in the same spot, and he cries out in ecstasy. His quick thrusts against Batman's thighs are replaced with a few short, hard jolts. Fingers dig into Bruce’s armored shoulders, more or less unnoticed. By the time he thinks to wonder how much he’s taken from Joker, he’s completely lost track of the time. With a slightly clearer mind now that he’s been sated, he releases Joker’s hair and moves his other hand to his lower back, keeping his limp adversary in place as he pulls his fangs out of him. 

The wound closes surprisingly quickly. Even more so as he licks the excess blood from the area. It makes sense. Easier to cover your tracks if your victims bear no bite marks upon discovery. Knowing Joker, this will be something of a disappointment.

He’s an acquired taste, Bruce thinks as he cleans the last bit of crimson from his neck. Less of a shock on his tongue now than it was prior. Less like licking a battery and more like a shot of espresso. There’s still some staining Joker’s shirt, but it’s by far not the worst thing he’ll have to wash out of his clothes tomorrow. 

God, he hadn’t even properly touched him, and he’d come undone so quickly. The clown slumps against him, limp. 

“Joker.”

An incoherent mumble, and then, “I swear this never happens to me.”

Bruce pulls the man’s head back so he can see his face. He’s passed out. Wonderful. At least he's made returning him to Arkham easy for him this time.


End file.
